Help for Birling Day
by beabeinggood
Summary: Sherlock is enlisted by his cousin Martin Crieff to make sure Douglas doesn't get into the whiskey during the third Birling day.


-CHAPTER ONE-

_Uh, Sherlock, there's a relative of yours at the flat... - JW_

_A relative? What are you talking about? Aside from Mycroft's visits, I hardly see any other relatives. Does this one have a name? - SH_

_Martin Crieff? Sherlock, he's the spitting image of you. Do you have a twin you've been hiding from me? Anyway, he claims he's a cousin. - JW _

_If you were to check my birth certificate, you would see that 'single birth' is marked. Our mothers were twins, so it's no surprise that we resemble one another. - SH_

_Shall I tell him to come back, or can you get here soon? - JW_

_Why did he come to the flat? - SH_

_He says he wants to hire you. Apparently he's a pilot? He's not given me the whole story yet, but says he wants to explain when you're around. - JW_

_So I need to get rid of him myself, then. - SH_

_Sherlock, be nice. - JW_

_I'll be there in fifteen minutes, if not less. - SH_

_He seems eager enough to talk about his love of flying, so that should be fine. - JW_

_The last time we saw each other, he hardly spoke of anything else. - SH_

_When /was/ the last time you saw him? - JW_

_Before I went off to university. He was dead-set on becoming a pilot, and his parents weren't keen on seeing him waste his live on it. - SH_

_Well, he seems quite proud of himself for it. He's not as arrogant, though. He's rather different from you, actually. I'd better go; it's rude to text when a guest is around, and he's getting out of the loo now. - JW_

Sherlock shook his head at the series of texts and pocketed his phone. Well, well. Cousin Martin. When they were young, their parents would constantly point out how similar they were. Martin was younger than Sherlock by almost a year, and far scrawnier. Eventually, they drifted apart, and the detective could hardly be bothered to care about maintaining a relationship with his awkward cousin. Especially because the now-pilot was taking his CPL for the second-or was it third?-time when Sherlock had returned form his studies.

The detective reached 221B and headed upstairs to the flat. Pulling off his scarf in one fluid motion, he stripped off his coat as well and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Both John and Martin looked up. The captain, who had a cup of tea in his hand, positively beamed at his cousin's arrival. "Sherly! Oh, it's been awhile, hasn't it? How-how've you been?"

John gave Sherlock a look that said /You had better be nice/ "Martin was telling me he's the primary captain in his airline." He said, smiling warmly at the pilot.

Martin cleared his throat, "Well, it's not /my/ airline, and I'm the, uh, only captain." His voice was small, but he coughed and sat up a bit straighter.

"It has been too long, Martin." Sherlock feigned a sense of formality, if only to see John free from any complaint against his behavior. He held in a sneer as Martin proudly spoke of the airplane he flew. "I see," he said flatly, tossing his coat and scarf over the back of his chair, "Now, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

"Well, you see, I had an issue around this time last year-and, well, the time before-where one of my fellow employees-my first officer, in fact, caused some trouble with a bottle of stolen whiskey. I don't want a repeat of last year's events, and so I was wondering f you'd be willing to fly with us next week, to make sure that if something does happen, you can figure it out quickly. John tells me you're, well, as a friend of mine would say, brilliant, and I remember how you used to tell how many biscuits I'd snitched as a child by the way I flicked my eyes." Martin chuckled at the memory. "Anyway, will you come? And John, you're more than welcome to come along as well."

Sherlock ignored his question, and waltzed into the kitchen. "It wasn't just the flick of your eyes." He called, as he rooted through one drawer, withdrawing a pair of foreceps, "The crumbs around your mouth were an indicator, and the way you stuttered to Aunt Rose when you told her you'd only taken one biscuit, when you had, in fact, had two. I can't believe she actually /believed/ you! A mother's love is blind to far too much of the obvious." He shook his head at the thought, and withdrew a zipper-seal bag from the fridge, and took out a fingernail with a pair of foreceps.

Martin had stepped over behind Sherlock , and got an eyeful of the fridge, which not only contained the fingernails, but entire fingers as well. And was that a /foot/? , "Oh, oh, I'm going to be sick." The now-pale Martin nearly dropped his cup of tea and, hastily setting it down on the kitchen table, he made for the bathroom and closed the door.

"Sherlock," John stood and spoke in his warning tone, "Try being hospitable for once? Martin seems like an accomplished and decent man, and certainly treats you nicer than I thought any of your relatives would. When he was talking about you, it was like he looked up to you. Obviously you mean a lot to him. Be nice."

Sherlock laughed at his cousin's inability to keep his lunch in the presence of his experiments. Then again, when he'd examined that dead badger in the woods when they were fourteen, Martin had dashed off with a bad stomach, and Aunt Rose was miffed at Sherlock for a week. "I see no reason in going on a plane trip. If I get bored in a metal tube thirty thousand feet in the air, neither you nor I will be particularly happy."

John sighed, shaking his head, "Sherlock, he's part of your family and he asked for your help. The right thing to do would be to indeed help him. It would make his day, I can tell."

Martin came back out into the sitting room, straightening his jacket and trying to appear as normal as possible, "Well, have you thought about it?" He directed his cousin, "It would really mean a lot to me. I'd be paying you, of course." Martin didn't add that he'd been saving his money earned from the van business as soon as he'd thought about asking Sherlock for help, in order to make it worth his cousin's while, at least a little. "You see," he continued, "Last year I had to be my own detective, and I got a lot of it wrong, and wasted quite a it of time. But then, some time ago, you stumbled to mind." The two cousins were about the same height, so he looked Sherlock directly in the eyes. "Would you please consider it?"

John jumped in, "He'd be more than happy to."

Sherlock gave John a death glare, "Wh-"

"Yes, you would." John interrupted him firmly, "You don't have any cases going, and we don't have any other plans next week."

Martin beamed, "Oh, great! Thank you!" He stepped forward enthusiastically to give Sherlock a hug, but stopped half way through and pulled back, clearing his throat awkwardly. He looked down at his watch, "I've got to get going, otherwise Carolyn will be upset. Thank you again! I'll email you the details." With that, Martin showed himself out, quite eager to get away from the slight embarrassment he'd caused himself with trying to show affection to his cousin.

As soon as the door had closed, Sherlock stepped directly in his flatmate's view, "John..." He growled, feeling his anger and annoyance rise.

"Nope. No complaining." John responded firmly, and stepped aside, sitting down in his chair and grabbing his laptop to check his email.

"Its not as if I need you to make decisions for me, especially concerning my work!" The detective went on a rant, standing over John as he sat, attempting to be intimidating. "I don't even need his money." Sherlock grumbled even more.

"You're right, Sherlock, but he did make a decision: to come to you for help. I would think you'd be chuffed, since it's obviously a big ego boost." The doctor glared up with his Mother Hen authority. Sighing, he shut the lid to his laptop, "I'm going to bed. We can discuss this in the morning, but you need some time to think about it. And by think about it, I mean realize that helping Martin is the right decision." Not wanting to deal with Sherlock at the moment, he went off in a bit off a huff to his room upstairs.

Gathering his resolve, Sherlock followed John upstairs a few moments later. "You're upset with me now." He stated, standing in the doorway of John's room.

John was rifling through his drawers for his pyjamas, "I'm used to you being rude to people," he said, not looking up, "But tonight's behaviour was unacceptable. Your own cousin!" John unbuttoned his shirt and hung it up in his closet, "And a decent cousin at that-someone who doesn't deserve your attitude toward them."

"/Yes/, my own cousin," Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms, leaning on the doorframe. "'Decent'?" He repeated John's choice word, "Made a new friend now, did we?"

John huffed out a sigh, and threw on his pyjamas, "Yes, I rather liked him, and I do hope we stay in touch. It's not as if we could ever visit with Harry, and mum's not fond of leaving her house. Is it so wrong that I would like to get to know more people?"

Sherlock watched John for a moment before speaking, defeated, though not letting it show in his voice, "I suppose not. Alright then, if you're so determined for me to be civil to Martin...how does one 'stay in touch' exactly?"

John shrugged, and walked past Sherlock out in the hallway to get to the bathroom, "Invite him for dinner, holidays...I dunno, the normal stuff." He glanced up at Sherlock, with a weary, small smile, "Glad you're reconsidering. I'm going to go clean my teeth now. Night."

END CHAPTER ONE


End file.
